Monthly Archives: March 2017

Wind Town 6.3

            As Dad scooped eggs out of the pan, Matt eyed the remainder with a calculating eye. He knew he’d eaten a massive pile already, but he still felt hollow. He reminded himself that there was toast waiting on the table and restrained himself to a third of the remaining eggs and bacon. There was always the chance that Mom and Sarah wouldn’t want any more.
            He set the plate on the table and added two pieces of toast before he sat down. They were golden and heavy with butter. He spooned a bite of eggs onto a corner and took a bite with a loud crunch followed by an mm of pleasure. Similar sounds chorused around the table, broken only by the occasional scrape of a chair as someone went back for more. With each bite, the gray light grew and warmed to a rich gold.
            When he’d consumed the last crumb on his plate (and checked to be sure that was no more left), Matt wrapped his hand around his stomach and leaned back with a contented groan. The first serving had finally made it to his belly, and he was feeling pleasantly full. Closing his eyes, he pictured going back to bed and sighed wistfully. Not today. Around him, the happy chewing sounds continued, but soon enough, everyone would be finished. And the fields were waiting.
            Groaning internally, Matt opened his eyes, picked up his plate, and carried it over to the basin. There were no scraps to scrape off, so he set the plate down, picked up the kettle, and started pumping. When it was full, he shifted the empty skillet aside and put the water on to boil. He mouthed his silent thank you to the fire and then nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand landed gently on his shoulder.
            “Thanks, Matt,” his mother said as she leaned around him to set down her own plate. “I’ll leave the dishes to you and Sarah. Join us in the fields as soon as you can.”
            “Yes, Mom!” Matt perked up at the unexpected reprieve.
            “No dawdling.” Her voice was stern, but her lips curved affectionately as she squeezed his shoulder. Matt grinned back.
            “Yes, Mom!”


6 Word Short Story: Ignore at Your Own Risk

Sleep punched me in the eye.


Priorities: Multiple Jobs & Potential Effects on the Blog

Hey! How are ya? Probably not real interested in reading about priorities when the novel update’s late. Again. Right? *headdesk*

Of Priorities & Novel Updates

I’m about 40 words away from being ready (I swear!), but I want to check with my time period resource (AKA Grandma) to fact-check it before I post it. It should be ready tomorrow.

Of course, it should have been ready Sunday or Monday. That’s where priorities come in.

Priorities & the Effect of Having Multiple Jobs

It may seem like I’m unreliable and bad with deadlines. I can totally see where you get that impression – repeatedly late novel updates; last-minute, late-night updates for Words & Deeds; updates about trying to do better; etc. It probably seems like I’m a bit flaky and unconcerned with pesky details (you know, like when I said I would do something).

*heavy sigh*

Unfortunately, if you only know me through these blogs, that impression isn’t going to change, but contrary to appearances, it’s not because I’m unreliable about deadlines – it’s because I was stupid enough to say deadlines that weren’t possible. Not really (ok maybe).

No, it’s because these blogs are not at the top of my list of priorities.

These days, I’m working full-time at my original job as well as trying to start my own business. I’ve also had multiple music performances and practices this month to take away more time. Those have been and continue to be my top priorities. Words & Deeds and twytte come after all of those things.

And it shows.

It shows in the late posts and the novels updates, especially. And, unfortunately, I can’t promise that that’s going to change. On the contrary, I can say that the post schedule will probably get even more unreliable as my second job takes off. I wish that weren’t the case (and I will try to keep to the schedule I’ve made), but I honestly don’t see this improving in the near future.

Someday, I hope to be back to 1 job again (cross your fingers). If/when that happens, my priorities will change, and the blogs can move back to regular updates. Until that golden, glowing day, however, this is the way it’s gonna be.

To summarize, a short dialogue:

A: Being an adult sucks.
B: Yep. And?

TTFN,
Em


Be Still

Sometimes (thought too rarely, in truth),
I like to sit and be still, to
Listen to the world and
Empty my mind of thought, of plans –
No worries, no inner monologue: a
Calm, tranquil pool of water, too often too
Easily unsettled, unbalanced, or drained


Blunt and to the Point: A Short Dialogue

A: My life is blunt!

B: …what?

A: I have no function! No percentage!

B: Percentage? Of what? Do you need help with math? There’s a button on your calculator that-

A: -No! I’m talking about my existence! My viability!

B: …your life?

A: Yes! It’s rounded.

B: You mean you’re well-rounded? Or it’s a circle.

A: No! It’s… worn. [B raises his eyebrows.] It’s… dull.

B: Oohh. You’re bored.

A: …what? No, I am person.

B: What? Oh. No. Bored. B-o-r-e-d. Your life doesn’t entertain or amuse you. It’s no fun.

A: But my life is fun! Very fun! I have fun for keeps. Endlessly

B: …ok…then, what’s the problem?

A: My life is blunt! Worn! [At B’s bemused expression, A let’s out a frustrated exclamation, pulls out a smart phone, and does a quick search.] Pointless! It’s pointless!

B: …

A: So what should I do?

B: Don’t teach.


Deathwalker 9.2

            I stared blankly for a moment. Restraint? She pointed at the tiny bit of food I’d scooped up.
            “Oh!” I was feeling slower all the time. “I’ve never had this before.”
            “I see,” Kith said reprovingly. “You may get a new meal this once, but in the future, I suggest you pick foods that you know you will eat.”
            “What?” I blurted. I had lost track of the conversation somehow.
            “In space, we cannot afford to waste food,” he explained slowly. I closed my eyes and took a long, deliberate breath. He acted like I was 5 years old.
            “I do not want more food.” I replied in the same slow, condescending tone. “The Kaihmi do not waste food.” Ever. Nomadic life simply did not allow it. Or rarely. Aunt Apikalia never allowed it.
            “You are not eating.” His tone got worse if that was possible.
            I held it in. I don’t know how, but I kept from snapping the obvious response (Because you’re talking to me!). But I didn’t dare try to say anything else. If I opened my mouth, that’s what would come out. I was sure of it.
            Jaw locked tightly enough to twitch, I turned back to my food. My instinct was to shovel a huge bite into my mouth as a kind of “There! I’m eating!” But I was not going to let him ruin my meal. I was going to enjoy this new food, and if he didn’t like it, he could go watch someone else eat.
            Deliberately, I separated another of the bits I hadn’t tried yet and took a bite. Like before, I held it in my mouth a moment to analyze the flavor and composition, and then, I slowly started to chew.
            Kith growled (a sound that reached right down to the base of my spine and activated the “run” instinct in my legs). Ignoring both gave me a burst of childish pleasure as I savored the flavors. And another as I took another purposefully small sampling. His growing irritation was like an approaching storm front, a perceptible front of energy at my side. Since I was fairly sure he wouldn’t hurt me (considering the Captain’s reaction to my minor cut), his annoyance added flavor to the meal. Especially since (and maybe I really was 5 again), he had started it.
            “He is eating, Kith.” The woman sounded either amused or sympathetic. I couldn’t really tell.
            “He is picking it apart,” Kith snarled. “It is not meant to be tasted this way. Then, he dares to say he does not like it.”
            “No.” The word snapped out before I could stop it. “You assumed I did not like it.”
            “You won’t eat it.”
            “I’m trying to!” I half rose to face him. “I might have a chance if you’d stop interrupting me!”
            It was harder to ignore my legs when he growled this time. Maybe because I could see him leaning over me. Or because his eyes suddenly seemed metallic and cold.
            “He has a point.” The woman’s voice was a calm, cool breeze. We both spun towards her, and my jaw dropped open. She hadn’t moved – she was leaning on the table as casually relaxed as she’d been at the start.
            “What?”
            “He was eating. You interrupted.” She smirked up at him in a friendly way, not even blinking when he loomed over her.
            “That is not eating!” His heavy fist landed on the table, and the scarred carbon shook. “It is a whole. Not little parts.”
            “True.” She nodded. “But I imagine he’s never seen or heard of some of those parts before.” She looked at me, and I blinked and then nodded slowly. “If he wants to recognize them later, he’d need to try each one, wouldn’t he?”
            “But that ruins the dish!” Kith’s expression wasn’t simply angry. He acted as if tasting each part instead of the whole was somehow offensive. Like an insult. Maybe even sacrilege.
            “Nat! Mor!” A disembodied voice boomed and echoed through the room. I jumped like a startled cat.
            “They’re not here, Raz.” The dark-haired woman took the sudden sound as calmly as Kith’s anger. “Try the-“
            “-Turn on the screen! You have to see this!”


6 Word Short Story: Written on His Face

That’s how “grave” became an adjective.


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